lilith
by appleschan
Summary: a college boy and his succubus.
1. Chapter 1

language. ooc. nonlinear. i don't remember writing a 135-word fic.

lilith

(a college boy and his succubus)

by appleschan

* * *

The library chair prickles strangely cold.

"Fuck this shit," says Ichigo and then he moves to another chair, pulling with him his laptop and reams of paper –grunting at some sore spots in his abdomen and thighs.

Along with his move, two girls three tables from him retreated as well, maintaining the same distance. Ichigo hears them whispering to themselves, " _how_ do we know he's not really, _really_ a gangster? A yakuza of sorts?"

Ichigo shoots them a glare (like he would do anything else) and for fun's sake, he shoots them a _yakuza-of-sorts_ glare. The two girls may find their way out earlier.

But by no means is he a yakuza of sorts, Kurosaki Ichigo is a normal college student who dresses neatly and drinks moderately. He is programming major and that it was met with a certain degree of shit show from Keigo: "holy sheeeeeeet! Ichigo, you will never get laid, I tell you! What are you? A fucking nerd like Ishida? Oh man, you can't get girls there! Fuck programming, I go where the women are." Asano Keigo is majoring in Women Studies (because that's his only purpose).

But Ichigo doesn't suffer in programming: it's quiet and easy and filled with intelligent people who don't talk to each other except when discussing the latest in their love languages like JavaScript and c- and C#. And if there are arguments, vicious bugs are there to bust each other's compilation of codes –both coded and real. People in here don't annoy each other with their personal shit. _Ichigo adores it_. And he particularly adores the university library –with built-in electrical sockets in every table (apartment pay is expensive; bills are goddamned impossible) and there's genuine _silence_ to bask in and a row of Shakespeare's works for downtimes.

-and then he types the last line, not missing a comma, then carefully settles in his chair and waits for his codes to compile, resisting the urge to stretch out his kinked muscles.

(his back hurts; his ass hurts)

.

.

.

Holy fucking shit, it's like porn –which doesn't really amount to something because porn films are make-believe, untrue, overblown, absurd, distorted sexual fantasies, but-

" _Holy fucking shit, it's like porn_!"

(Keigo, Mizuiro and Chad will be coming anytime soon for some study group overnight Ishida suggested and that fucking nerd will come too and with their arrival, his sanity will depart him)

A woman is currently fucking him.

"Ahhh! What the-?" He thought he'll never shriek like a girl.

Ichigo tries to reorganize his thoughts. _Motherfucker_ – _move! Think! The fuck-!_ She is on top of him, straddling him. The woman keeps on literally _bouncing_ on his hips –dick.

(but there aren't much thoughts to organize, actually)

Ichigo, of course, in all honesty, had no idea (or memory) where the woman came from and how she found him alone in his university apartment and started fucking him.

"The –the fuck…is this-? The fuck a-are you-?" These words come as soft, pathetic whispers. After all, what can a man do when his dick is being – _well_ \- _shoved_ into a woman's body?

Ichigo thinks it's one of the Limits of Man his Philosophy and Aesthetic professor was yapping about (his professor who is sexually-charged and has balls of steel to go to his classes very drunk and likes wearing a sakura-haori). "Ah, tradition," his professor lectured one sunny day when he took the class out to conduct a lesson in a bamboo sansui, "a woman possesses a sensual power to make a man slave to her, but it is kept hidden. Behind her meek smile, politeness and finery is a flower waiting to bloom. I encourage you young men to initiate that blooming, but let her have her way, be gentle and let her hold control over your body and simply soar with her, you will find that it is like, alas, seeing a crocus bloom beautifully during spring."

Fucking hell no. She is no flower. He'd report the shit out of her to the authorities for doing this. Yeah. He just needs to see her face –which is impossible at the moment because the fucking lava lamp exploded yesterday and the light switches are too far to reach and the woman has her head thrown back that he could only make out the angle of her jaw, sounds like kittenish mewls are coming from her – _damn_. And he tries to remember if he took any sort of drug.

He – _they_ are on top of his kitchen island. _Be calm, motherfucker, be calm_ \- _my pants aren't even fully pulled down_! It feels uncomfortable though, hitched in his thighs.

He could sense that the woman is small: slender and smooth and soft and Ichigo has no idea where to put his hands, so he grips the edge of the counter, looking like a stiff log, his nails grating the marble.

"Shit, fucking shit! ahh!"

Ichigo can't think and do much and is absolutely dumbfounded: he decides it must be a dream.

He comes hard and fast and without warning 11 seconds later.

.

.

.

That was a motherfucker of a dream, Ichigo supposes, sitting still on the library chair.

It's 5 pm and the last of the afternoon sun is thinning and so are the students in the library with him – _oh hell yes_ , end of the day. Looking at the compiling progress on his laptop, he figures it will take him at least ten more minutes before he can pack his things.

The dream was very vivid, so vivid and realistic his back still hurts ( _shit_ , the chair is starting to get kind of cool, Ichigo shifts uncomfortably) and his ass still hurts as well, kitchen counter-island is not ideal for some positions.

And all _that_ resulted to a very early morning cock-stand –stiff like hell, a fucking tree log, won't go soft even after practically spending an hour taking an icy shower and furiously jerking off.

Some say that the mind has got everything to do with it; dirty thoughts. Ichigo tells himself he's not thinking about any of _that_.

The cock-stand continued, hidden by his bags and baggy clothes and stacks of paper and the library table, and Ichigo had not given "being lucky" much thought before, but narrowly escaping his friends this afternoon while hiding a hard dick kind of changed his mind.

But the more pressing issue, he thinks, is that the impression the woman in his dream left on him, the same way a cliché TV show about an unforgettable one-night stand that eventually led to true love would make its characters describe that night: extraordinary.

(not the usual "extraordinary" though; bizarre)

.

.

.

("Who t-the fuck…are you?" Ichigo asks the woman, huffing and puffing and positively thrumming with life. Fucking strange.

He comes hard and he doesn't remember the last time he did.

"Do not speak, human."

 _Human_?)


	2. Chapter 2

language. ooc. nonlinear.

lilith

(a college boy and his succubus)

by appleschan

* * *

Ichigo _was_ a prude of the most virginal college blood _ever_. But not so prudish that he thought of fucking as like having beautiful sex under the moonlight or making sweet love on the honeymoon bed –these are fantasy shit reserved for the _girliest_ of girls- but certainly not like this either: really wet and noisy and sloppy and uncomfortable.

Ichigo is tall and moderately-muscular; is swift and is not bad-looking but comes with a natural and effective _fuck-off_ face. With his attitude and posture and orange hair and an _okay_ degree of intelligence: he can get a girl if he wants, maybe.

Getting a girl, though, is an entirely different manner. They come pretty sparse in the programming department (and he's sure it's the same with the engineering department). Once in a while, a female would breeze through the building, a secretary or an unfortunate lost soul wondering in the wrong part of the university, and the effect is like drinking orange juice under the heat: pleasing but not really quenching. Ichigo doesn't mind though; there are plenty of times to mind this matter in the future, and he does have friends who are girls. But still, still, still, girls are so rare in these forlorn buildings that bringing home one or finding oneself getting fucked by one is a phenomenon in itself.

even so:

A girl rides his dick and Ichigo, half-awake and inexperienced and bewildered, moves about frantically trying to push out his pants and boxers (for easier movement) while trying _not_ to think of his dick and the girl and his dick inside the girl (and how unbearably tight she actually is and she's doing most of the _very_ vigorous work and there is something electrifying in it and he doesn't know her or it's electrifying because he just woke up to her fucking him energetically).

-and in that precise moment, a passing headlight caught a part of his window and light passed through momentarily in dizzying and blinding white, but he does not miss her face-

"You!" he manages, quite an accomplishment because she has moved closer and is straddling his hips which results to deeper penetration.

(his stomach lurches, abdominal muscles flex in anticipation of something, an interruption in his breath)

"Who t-the fuck…are you?" Ichigo asks the girl, huffing and puffing and positively thrumming with life.

Unfortunately: the girl is very pretty.

The girl stops and steadies herself, balances her weight (which is almost nothing) on his, and shifts her legs against his hips –deeper and deeper and it's almost unhealthy having his breaths cut off in succession. Ichigo finds himself suddenly out of breath, his mouth becoming slack, he raises himself using his elbows to get a good look at her: she's so small.

And it's true what they say about petite girls having perky breasts and pink nipples. She's lithe and her frame is small –she's clearly not meant to take a larger man's size: him, with shapely hips and narrow waist he could easily cover with his large hands. Lodge in her, between her, in her hairless folds is his dick; he's definitely balls deep, and she does not look pained at all.

(actually, she does not fit any of his stereotypical images regarding girls having sex: she has none of their flush cheeks, swollen lips, glassy eyes. the male version, though, he's sure he looks _terribly_ exactly like that)

"Do not speak, human." She says, curious and soft. Moving slightly, again adjusting herself and blowing his mind briefly, and shifting closer to his dumbfounded face –another breath cut off harshly. Fucking hell.

 _Human_? Ichigo thinks unhappily, _what does she mistake me for? An animal?_ He's about to retort, mouth forming a rude answer when he loses his words. Her hair is long and black, a lone bang rests in between her eyes; she's too pretty. Ichigo meets her eyes: bright and purple and supernatural –strangely so, there's an air of it, a tiny hint of something he could not quite define yet.

Looking at her, it's not quite so difficult to get hard.

Her hands are _tiny_ , there, resting on his chest. But: a pretty girl on top of him, straddling him, and him –a college boy- helplessly below, balls-deep in her. There's something not natural here, he remembers, and so:

"Stop! Stop!" Ichigo blurts out, "just stop! who the fuck are-?" his hands flailing, then grasping her elbows hard, it's okay to touch and she lets him. (and he involuntarily notes; she's too soft)

"I do not understand," she speaks again, pink-tinge lips moving to form a small frown (that looked horrifyingly cute) and a lone finger on his lips, "I don't think I misjudged-"

"The hell?"

"Perhaps," she continues, peering down at him, eyebrows knit together. Ichigo does not trust this face, this-

She pushes again: rocking herself slowly, grinding him painfully slow, constricting his dick, bringing her small palms on the hard planes of his chest. Ichigo, a pitiful mess of actions and reactions and huffs and puffs and erratic heartbeats and tense muscles beneath her, grunted reluctantly, throwing his head back, his palms sliding to her thighs roughly kneading there. "Motherfucker, you-!" but he does not finish because she does it again and he reacts exactly the same again and, "ahh! You bitch-"

"-perhaps this will work." She doesn't seem amused or impressed, Ichigo hears barely, she sounds like an experimenting scientist.

"What will w-work, huh?" he recovers fast and struggles in a strained voice, annoyed and so very hard for her and she pushes again and head spinning and holy fucking hell the hormones rush everywhere in his body heat everywhere there's so many going on his brain everything comes in a range of possibilities he kind of wants to fuck her this time what a fucking bitch came out of nowhere is this sex like fucking hell shit he'd do her anywhere he doesn't know her maybe in the park or bed or shelves or mall stalls everything comes at once what to think first what to think first what to think first-

" _Boy_ ," the girl interrupts him, and Ichigo is taken back; huffing and eyes shut and squirming. The first orgasm comes mindless and only for gratification, the second time, he thinks, the second orgasm comes unexpected.

" _Do you remember your name_?"

.

.

.

Shit, a wet dream.

Ichigo's clam-shut eyes snap open, he's lying spread-eagle on his bed.

"Shit, a wet dream."

He slept without a shirt and in messily pulled pajama pants and he's perspiring everywhere. Fuck that wet dream.

It is 10 am and the sun is bright outside, a mean yellow ball baking everybody outside. The sky is blue though, the kind of blueness that comes easily with summer and fleetingly in early mornings.

Ichigo sits slowly, feeling his hips and legs and ass hurt, and so uncomfortable, he practically simmers in his room. He inches for his shirt that is hanging on the side of his bed and wears it down, feeling it stick on his sweaty body. "Fuck."

He sits still for a few minutes, trying to think of the day ahead.

But strangely, there are recognizable voices downstairs:

There is Ishida: "Sado-san, we will need the strongest disinfectant if we will stay here the whole weekend. Can you accompany me to the store?"

There is no audible reply which means Chad is there as well.

There is Keigo: "Wow Ishida, that's big of you!"

There is Mizuiro: "Ishida-kun, I think we should wake him."

Then of course, he remembers: there should be a study-group for a troublesome minor subject that they all share during the weekend. Ichigo bolts and races down to the first floor.

.

.

.

Rukia wonders in the complex collection of unusual man-made buildings looking for a specific signature, the boy from last night.

A very pretty sight in a floral white, airy short sundress and blue doll shoes, hair up in a messy bun.

(the sun is very lovely, not very hot, she thinks merrily, skips about in the university greenery and occasionally spots white, fluffy-looking sort of animal and chases them)

(as usual, the boys of programming and engineering have their faces pressed against the glass of their rooms and are thinking of orange juice and white rabbits and how life is unfair)

.

.

.

"-yeah, so there's this ho-bag, super skank lady in my biology class and _dayum_ , she's all over me-"

"Asano-san, please don't call them that, and I highly doubt it."

Ichigo hears Mizuiro and Keigo's usual choice of conversation _or_ Mizuiro putting up with Keigo's questionable topics as he gets closer.

He sees his friends –not where they should be sitting at- but huddled closely together in a corner of his living room, a picnic cloth sprawled beneath them, chips at the center.

"Yo," he greets gruffly, stepping into the living room; messy orange hair and sweaty and in his pajama and shirt and bright as the sun and all.

Grim faces turn to him.

"Uh, what the hell-?"

Surprisingly, Keigo is the first to react.

"You! What's wrong with you, man? I ate my breakfast cereal this morning on that table! Unsuspectingly, Ichigo, unsuspectingly!" Keigo whines from his position, an accusing finger pointed at him. "I'm proud of you, I really am, but fuck you very much!"

"The hell you're saying?" Maybe this is why he likes punching Keigo at times, to use as a prophylaxis for his future idiotic claims.

"Ichigo," Keigo starts seriously, "the kitchen counter top is cum-crusted! There's fucking cum everywhere!"

 _Ah_.

"What the fuck? And you automatically think it's me?" roars Ichigo, confounded. (Ishida audibly sighs in the background)

Mizuiro, cheerful and eerily polite, says softly, "Kurosaki-kun, may I?"

"What?" Ichigo snaps, looking squarely at Mizuiro's boyish face and pleasant smile.

Mizuiro also majors in Women Studies, but unlike the tactless Keigo, he is the _darling_ of Women Studies, women say: a flat out polite and intelligent guy from a decent family; finally a matured man with appreciation for strong, beautiful and independent women. Ichigo thinks Mizuiro is a smoking pile of utter shit, but a brilliant playboy who plays his games impressively well nonetheless.

Mizuiro continues cheerfully, "well, it is _your_ apartment, Kurosaki-kun. And we have a reason to believe it's yours."

"Yes, you swine, your belt is here," clears Ishida, prodding a belt using a meter stick on the floor, "-which is most disgusting, Kurosaki. I commend you for hitting a new low."

Ishida is at the top of all his course subjects which he likes to rub in everyone's face. He is a med-student, pompous brat-ass whose father owns a tertiary hospital. Ichigo calls him an idiot. They are sort of good friends.

Patience is something Ichigo always runs low with; it's not an inestimable thing.

"Fuck you Mizuiro, and especially you, Ishida. You think I did all these? I don't know what happened!"

Ichigo likes to keep his dream as it is nothing more. The physical "evidence" of it, though, is something he will have to think about later.

"Kurosaki-kun-" Mizuiro starts calmly, hoping to deter a storm and not ruin his weekend.

"How rude." Ishida, on the other hand, actually invites arguments, and so he turns to Kurosaki and asks him grimly, "A _ctually_ , how dare you even invite us to your filthy apartment?"

Ichigo walks up to Ishida, "Listen here, Ishida. I did not invite anyone. You invited yourself with all these studying pretense and shit. I just agreed. And as for these –these things in my apartment- I don't know what happened." Ichigo tells him darkly. "And I don't even know why the fuck you would want to do study-group-"

"Actually, Ishida-kun is interested with your friend's friend-" Mizuiro starts, opening a bottle of mineral water.

"Mizuiro!" Ishida turns to him warningly.

"Wait, guys," Keigo interjects, holding both hands up, then he looks sideways at Ichigo and says casually, "Ichi-bro, not mad at you anymore. Sorry, man. When you think about it, holy fuck! You got laid! Which is awesome!" Keigo is grinning widely.

Ichigo wants to punch him. "I said I don't know what happened!"

Keigo continues, "Okay guys, let's not divert. First, Ichigo got laid last night, he came everywhere but that's okay, because we can just clean it-"

"Sorry Kurosaki-kun, I won't."

"I said it wasn't me!"

"No. And stop denying Kurosaki, it's really disgusting, makes me want to go home."

"Then go home! But wait, what's that? You are interested in my friend's friend?"

"Kurosaki!"

"-Shh! don't interrupt me. Second, you guys aren't seriously thinking about studying and shit, right? I thought we gon' par-tay!" Keigo wiggles his eyebrows expectantly.

There's a terse silence. Ichigo thinks this shit show is expanding. He wants to bang his fist somewhere –preferably Keigo or Ishida's face.

"Please excuse him." Mizuiro pipes in, smiling apologetically and flicking his phone open.

"Nobody said about a party." Ishida deadpans, folding his arms.

"Yeah." Ichigo agrees with Ishida.

"I thought it's a great way to bond! Didn't we plan our whole year to this?"

Chad, though, remains silent throughout the exchanges, he's sitting in the corner. Keigo turns to him. "Yo, Sado! Back me up here man! You wanna party, right?"

Chad looks at them briefly, then to something past them. Ichigo follows and sees the birds outside his windows –Chad nods.

"See?" booms Keigo.

"Hell no! Can we just stop for a moment and-"

"Kurosaki?" Ishida interrupts.

Ichigo glowers at Ishida's direction.

"What is that?" Ishida says carefully, there are creases in his forehead, and his mouth threatens to break into a sneer, Ishida means Ichigo's groin.

Ichigo looks down, of course he has a hard dick. "Fuck!"

And Ishida smirks at his predicament.

The name Ishida and the word schadenfreude are actually interchangeable; Ishida takes enjoyment at other's misfortunes.

"I knew it." Ishida says coolly, and as smug as ever.

Mizuiro looks up from his phone and smiles at him, "My girlfriend said –which by the way is professional a sex ed adviser- a 5-minute ice cold shower should correct it."

"What? You told your girlfriend?"

"Oh!" Keigo shouts, patting Ichigo at the back, "that's great, man! Wait, tell us, you got a gf we don't know about?"

This ended the tirade as Ichigo hurriedly barges into his room and attempts to take care of his problem.

(before completely closing the door, he heard Keigo saying: "party is on, yeah?")

These are his friends. They're kind of assholes.

(but no no, not Chad. Chad opens the windows. Chad is harmless. Chad likes birds all around him)

An hour later, Ichigo storm into the university library, there is no way he can complete his workload with these idiots around and join their study group after all that shit show and survive the day around them with an unyielding hard dick and partly to sort his mind (and cut his electricity cost).

.

.

.

Looking at the windows, the sky turned blue-white to gray and inky black. And the librarian signals him the hour. The weather is crazy, or the ACs are crazy, because Ichigo could feel his chair getting prickly cold again, and so he moves on to another chair again, pulling his laptops and papers with him. That's when he catches a glimpse of a girl in white sundress sitting in front of his new chair and he kind of ignores her at first glance then does a double take.

The girl with the purple eyes riding his dick like crazy hell and like crazy slow last night sits on the chair opposite him.

"Fuck! It's you!"

Only if it's physically possible for the heart to leap out of one's chest and run like hell, Ichigo is sure it would happen to him.

"I am sorry Kurosaki Ichigo," she starts, blinking slowly and her face as pretty as last night yet as passive as ever.

"For some unknown reason, I have failed to collect your soul. I'm afraid it might be compromised." She tells him seriously and Ichigo's mouth stays agape.

"Uhh," Ichigo sputters, struggling to form a coherent sentence, "didn't you –didn't you fuck me last night? Is it – is it true?"

 _Curious little humans_ , Rukia the demon thinks. This particular human is more concerned with the sexual intercourse even after being told that his soul is compromised.

She tilts her head in amusement, "yes."


	3. Chapter 3

lilith

by appleschan

* * *

That is strange. _Very_ \- if she's going to put it into perspective. The boy must have taken something from her and lost something of himself, too.

"- _I have failed to collect your soul. I'm afraid it might be compromised._ "

But that's not entirely the case, she _did_ collect a fragment.

Rukia the succubus ponders if the bright-haired, fiery boy was a wrong target - wrong soul. She lightly shakes her head at the thought, that could not possibly be.

Out of all the many succubi _in service,_ Rukia is the most diligent one. She did her assignments piously back at the academy, knows assessment all too well, knows the veins and fibers of a healthy soul, and has consistently topped the ranked 'best reaper of souls' every after seven blue moons four times now - which is no easy feat for both incubi and succubi.

(Renji - who is a notorious incubus in his own right - has been catching up to her lately - and that's not very good. Her brother, of course, is another story, he remains undisputedly the _best_ \- it's because of him they discovered that indeed, willing victims do exist)

The point, the point, is that Rukia is top-ranked succubus herself, level-headed and entirely efficient.

Rukia did her research, this boy is textbook definition of their preferred soul quality for sustenance. Top-tier. Top-class. Good and approved. She liked her choice.

She spent a full-day observing him, at the bus stop, classrooms, some places, library, then back at that bus stop.

She knows the boy's familial relationships, he has good friends, is not emotionally unstable; he is healthy physically and mentally, he will not get exhausted easily - he makes for a good harvest; that and she knows his blood type and his sperm count as well.

Still, I could not take his soul fully, she's bothered with the thought. _Fully_ -

Surely, the boy lost something of himself. During the initial retrieval, she welcomed the warm flow of the fragments of his soul. It was good, like liquid sunshine, like she predicted.

Rukia, because she's still a demon who operates in no other way but exploitation, plans to collect his soul intermittently, to let him recover for days at a time to ensure that she only gets top quality soul then come back to pillage it, repeatedly so she could secure both quantity and quality - and that will surely earn her fifth 'best reaper' title in a row and then Renji can cry again.

Rukia sealed the fragment of his soul she collected within her, and she can feel it electrifying and intensely pulsing while travelling in her veins and fingertips - he's better than she expected.

However, the flipside is this: Rukia woke up to realize how disturbed her own soul became. Once she got used to the boy's pulses, only did she realize a fragment of her own went missing.

\- that part, strangely, went to the boy. That was not supposed to be. It's a curious thing to happen. Hence, _compromised_ -

(and it warranted a physical, corporeal visit)

"...did we fuck? Did we really, really fuck?" the boy, _Ichigo_ , asks again. He sounds desperate and fidgety.

Around them, the lights dim, the library is closing soon. It's night again, Rukia thinks warily.

She turns to him, her eyes slightly narrowing, "did you not hear me the first time?" comes her own question. Her soul's fragments within him, then again strangely, do not appear to be calling for her, but she wants them back.

"Yes," she affirms nonetheless, again.

Then the boy crumples a paper and throws it squarely at her face, "...then you are a fucking rapist bitch!"

* * *

a/n: but 'tis quick.

thank you gin and guest and guest.


End file.
